


Far Too Long Chasing Your Tail

by predictaslash



Series: I like it here, can I stay. [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Birthdays, Finally, Friendship, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predictaslash/pseuds/predictaslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At that moment, Stiles remembers that he's 147 lbs of pure, hard werewolf with abs of steel and balls of...also steel?  He figures it's his life and it's now or never and he ain't gonna live forever.”</p><p>Finally, some smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far Too Long Chasing Your Tail

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is anymore, but thanks to those who have been reading it. Peter is a little OOC, but whatever, snuggling can tame the wildest and creepiest of hearts. Only one more installment after this.

Werewolf courting turns out to be super boring and Stiles fucking loves it. It makes sense--the last few months (years) have been turbulent as all get out, so he thinks he deserves some rest. Lacrosse season is over, so he just schools hard and then goes home and researches one monster per week for his and Lydia's special bestiary. A few nights a week, Peter comes over for what Stiles calls his Leeloo Dallas Multipass sessions. Instead of learning the history of mankind in a few hours, Peter is catching up on the news and books and music and movies and television from the Coma Times.

They snuggle and scent and watch Mad Men or There Will Be Blood or six years of The Daily Show. They mostly do this at the Stilinski abode. The threat of the sheriff walking in at any time helps Stiles to keep his hands to himself. For all of Peter's flirting and double entendres and "innocent" brushes against Stiles, he reins in on the creepiness. No further blood licking or biting on this front. No, sir. 

This pace helps Stiles to sort through his shit. This thing with Peter is a life thing for him and Stiles isn't going to toy with the man's emotions. He's not Peter. And, as Scott has imparted in all his alpha wisdom: do unto others or whatever. So, despite how laughable this may sound, them behaving by the rules set forth by Papa Bear Stilinski is as much to protect Peter's feelings as they are to protect him from bodily harm.

Stiles has wanted to have sex since before he actually knew what it was, but for years he imagined a soft, sweet after prom occurrence with a certain strawberry-haired smarty pants. And he definitely intended on being human. He hasn't even had regular sex, much less superstrong werewolf alpha on beta sex. And he also hadn't worked up the courage to ask Scott. And he definitely wasn't going to ask Peter, who would probably be the most knowledgeable (but also the most likely to make shit up just to freak him out). They aren’t there yet and before Stiles didn't care if his first time was special, but now it’s important that he and Peter are honest and communicative and on the same page and generally in it to win it.

This is the most mature Stiles has ever been. It's frightening. And liberating. 

Don't get him wrong, he's still flailing about and generally making an ass of himself, but he's okay with it. He's making decisions and controlling his own fate and he's confident and actually feels comfortable in his own skin for the first time in ever. And he doesn't think it has much to do with his newfound wolfdom.

He hopes he can figure it out before the big birthday bash Lydia is planning for him (with only sealed drinks, no punch bowl this time, thank you very much). Because if Peter backs him into a corner and gives him one of those little guttural noises while squeezing his ass, well. Stiles has imagined it enrough and the only response he is capable of giving is "Yes, please, take me now." No matter how many times he runs the simulation. In the shower. And at night. (And can we talk about how porn isn't even doing it for him now, how he has to lay back at night and close and eyes and think of every filthy thing he wants to do to Peter--this isn't a him thing, this is some kind of unforeseen wolf thing, because he certainly did not have this problem before he was turned).

So, anyway, back to werewolf courting--mostly boring, but there is a lot of awesome cuddling. At first, there's "no touching!" Which is a reference to a thing, but Peter doesn't know that and jumps away from Stiles when his dad thinks it's okay to yell as he passes them on his way to the kitchen. Rather than explain it, Stiles has Peter sit through all four seasons of Arrested Development (which, no excuse, this was out pre-coma). Watching Peter laugh in a non-maniacal manner is his new favorite. 

It's not like Peter's a changed man who's found the lord and has seen the error of his ways and will never kill again. He's just not trying to kill or fuck with anyone in Stiles's pack anymore. And, really, they need someone like Peter in the group-smart, clever, knowledgeable, and Slytherin as fuck. Yeah, he gets what he wants, but he'll rip out the throats of the people who try to take his things away. Derek and Scott aren't like that and even Stiles has some hesitation. They need an enforcer in the pack. 

So, yeah, Stiles knows he's a dick, but he's also an asset and also his boyfriend. He doesn't mind that the group is still standoffish with Peter since Peter is a sassafrass, but it doesn't mean that he doesn't growl at people who threaten to set him on fire and put him back in the ground. It's mostly Derek. His future nephew-in-law Derek? Step-nephew? Sometimes it's Lydia. He doesn't mind, really, knows that Peter's more than earned the treatment, but it doesn't mean he can control his reactions. It also doesn't help that he doesn't bother to try to control his reactions. Hey, wolf instincts are important and not to be ignored.

And the look on Peter's face when Stiles gets all growly over him? Yeah. It's, uh, nice.

 

They tried sparring as a couple's activity once, but with the sweatiness and the physicality and the eventual straddling and the fact that Peter is a crazy psychopath who gets off on violence, well. It ended with them dryhumping until Peter finally wrenched himself away and hightailed it out of the loft without a word. And of course, because Stiles's life is this, Derek walked in a minute later with groceries and saw Stiles laying in the floor with an epic erection. He wrinkled his nose. "Dammit, Stiles, take your creepy foreplay elsewhere." 

 

The big birthday bash turns out to be a dinner party with all of their friends (that are still alive). So, Scott, Lydia, Kira, Danny, Isaac, Derek, Melissa, his dad, and Peter. Even Chris Argent shows up looking haggard and lonely, but holding a card. It’s the perfect low-key event that they all need after, well, everything. 

After eating a very elaborate meal with all of his favorite people (and Isaac), Stiles pushes his plate away and places his hand on his very full stomach. Lydia knows how to make enough food for a pack of wolves. “My compliments to the chef,” he says, making eye contact with Lydia and smiling. He may no longer be in love with this girl, but he really does love her.

She, however, wrinkles her nose. “Oh, honey, no. I don’t cook. That’s what the help is for. And Peter, apparently.” Many pairs of eyes now look down at their plates with horrified expressions. “Puh-lease, I watched him the whole time.”

“Also, we’re werewolves. We’d probably smell the poison.” Seriously, sometimes Stiles doesn’t know how his friends have made it this far--they forget that they have actual superpowers.

“It’s the ‘probably’ that scares me,” Derek grumps. 

Stiles ignores him in favor of turning to Peter, who is, of course, seated next to him. “I like the idea of you in the kitchen.”

“What a coincidence--I also look great barefoot and pregnant.” Under the table, Peter reaches for his hand and Stiles feels content rather than nervous about their pending...doing it. Sex. He can think the word. He’s a grown up now.

Scott begins to make noises like a cat coughing up a furball and Stiles elbows him as hard as possible. Which is pretty hard because, you know, werewolf strength. Then they’re throwing elbows back and forth, which devolves into a full-on tussle with Lydia saying “I would say if you break it, you bought it, but none of you could afford it.”

The adults roll their eyes and start clearing up the table with Isaac helping out like the suck-up he is. After a bit more rough housing and a little conversation to finish out the night, Stiles’s dad grabs his sheriff’s jacket from coat closet and swings his keyring on his index finger. Stiles goes to bid him farewell as they part ways, but then his dad says, “Alright, kiddo, ready to get going?”

“Nah, I think I’ll stick around for a bit longer.”

“But we drove here together. You may be eighteen now, but it’s still a school night.”

“I, uh, kind of have plans, Dad.” He not-so-subtly shifts his eyes over to Peter, who is just watching him with a carefully blank expression as if he’s not totally eavesdropping.

“We always spend the whole day together, Stiles.” Now he knows his dad is doing this on purpose because he’s really not this emotional or clingy over tradition. And he has this little grin that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Dad, I don’t want to gross you out or anything, but you’re being a major c-block right now.” He tries to hiss it under his breath, but werewolves. The sheriff’s mouth twists slightly, betraying his disgust. 

“Okay, never say that to me again.”

“Then don’t cramp my style, dude.”

“Home by midnight.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Deal.” They shake on it and everything. 

 

“Come on, babe, take me home on the back streets.” Stiles slides his arms around Peter’s waist from behind, bending his head to rest it between his shoulderblades, taking a deep breath of leather and Peter mixed with the lingering smell of pack and delicious food. They’re the last stragglers and Stiles is pretty sure that if they don’t leave soon, Lydia is going to throw them out. She’s the kind of person who needs at least six hours of sleep to function--she should seriously consider getting on Stiles’s level when it comes to not sleeping. 

His wolfy sense tingles and he looks up to see Lydia staring at them from the dining room with a soft, fond expression on her face. He thinks that maybe it this just clicked for her, how much Peter and Stiles are only for each other now. And he thinks of how hard that must be for her because she had that with Jackson and now she doesn’t. He slowly pulls away and goes over to give Lydia a goodbye hug. She clutches him tightly. “I hope you had a great birthday, Stiles.”

“Of course I did, Lyd. Thanks for making it so awesome. I love you.”

“I know.”

“You can’t Han Solo me. I’m Han Solo.”

“You’re Chewbacca now. So much fur.”

“But we had this discussion on the playground when we were eight. I called Han Solo and you called Darth Vader. You tried to choke our gym teacher with your mind. No take-backs.”

“She tried to make me run laps. I run for no one.” 

They part and Stiles goes back to Peter, who is standing by the door holding all of his gift bags and cards. It’s so domestic that Stiles’s ovaries would explode if he had them. If only Peter had a kitten in his hand, then Stiles would be putty in his hand instead of the other way around.

 

“Hey, baby, wanna fool around?” Stiles waggles his eyebrows as he puts his seatbelt on in Peter’s god awful Smart Car. (“Have you read any material on global warming, Stiles? The polar bears are _dying_.”)

“Someone’s got a curfew and your father only just stopped fondling his sidearm every time I come over.”

“Ugh, don’t ever talk about my dad and fondling in the same sentence again, please.”

Peter just puts the car into drive and, as requested, gets on the backroads to the Stilinski abode. Stiles’s hand goes across the center console and onto Peter’s thigh, higher up than he’s dared to touch before. Peter’s face remains blank, but Stiles doesn’t miss the way his hands tighten ever so slightly on the wheel. He loves how his cool werewolf powers make him so observant.

Peter is still at ease, so Stiles takes that to mean that what he’s doing is okay. They sit there in silence, scenting the fresh air from the open windows as they ride along. Stiles relaxes into his seat and feels his eyes start to droop.

 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep in the car, but he wakes up in his own bed. He wonders how that happened--maybe it’s an alpha power to tuck a beta in without waking him. He reaches one arm out and there’s a suspiciously warm spot between him and the wall where a body was until maybe--he takes a deep breath--twenty minutes ago. Before he knows it, that concentrated scent of Peter’s sweat mingled with his own has him humping the sheets. Just a little. 

He’s late for school.

 

No, no, not now. He's just minding his own business, stroking his own dick in his own room on his own time, eyes screwed shut thinking about Peter's tongue going to town on his asshole, when the shrill ringtone that signals someone from the McCall-Stilinski Pack (because that's what it is, fuck you, he's Scott's equal in this relationship). No, he tells himself, he'll just ignore it, finish up, then check the voicemail. But what if it's Code Freak of the Week? What if it's Code Human Monster? WHAT IF IT'S CODE RED KRYPTONITE?

That pulls Stiles out of it enough to grab his phone and slide his free thumb across the screen.

"Hello?" Stiles croaks out. No one responds and Stiles's first instinct is to think someone has been kidnapped. Or that Derek buttdialed him _again_ because that boy is seriously bad with all technology. He pulls the phone away from his face and double checks who it is so he knows who has been possibly rendered mute by a wizard or fairies. It's Peter, which is weird, because they always text or talk in person. "Uhhhhhh, tap the receiver once for 'The Gentlemen have come to town to take our voices and tear out our vital organs.'"

Peter clears his throat and says, "Ah, hello, Stiles."

"You sound weird. Why do you sound weird."

"What, uh, are you doing right now?" Stiles shrugs and looks down...at his hand that's still holding his cock, waiting and still very ready to party. 

At that moment, Stiles remembers that he's 147 lbs of pure, hard werewolf with abs of steel and balls of...also steel? He figures it's his life and it's now or never and he ain't gonna live forever. It has been two weeks since he turned eighteen and they still haven’t gone beyond making out. If he wants something to change, he should initiate it and fuck talking about it like a mature adult person. He aims for what he hopes is a sultry voice, but in reality is just a jumbly blurting of "I'm jerking off thinking about you rimming me."

"..."

"What are you wearing?" He hopes the smile comes across in his voice, that Peter is comfortable with this, that Stiles didn't just ruin everything they've been working toward, that this is actually sexy and not awkward as fuck. And that somehow Peter doesn't know he's stroking himself to the sound of Peter's heavy breathing like a total creep. Aren't the heavy breathers supposed to be the creeps? His worldview is forever changed.

"What else have you thought about?"

Okay, Stiles is totally the talker in the relationship, but not because Peter is laconic. Stiles is just the opposite of laconic times infinity. And Peter seems to enjoy when Stiles gets bossy with him and uses his unique power to get something he wants.

"I, I think about you eating out my asshole and then slipping your fingers in and you fingerfuck me until I'm almost sobbing, and I'm begging you to fuck me. Sometimes you shove your fingers in my mouth to shut me up. Or your dick. You straddle my shoulders and fuck into my mouth until I'm almost choking. Is this, uh, is this okay only I've never done this and maybe things I've learned from porn are unrealistic and--" Peter groans. "Did I ruin it?" 

"No, Stiles, you, ah." Peter normally sounds so in control and concise and enunciatey and now he sounds well on his way to being completely wrecked. And Stiles did that. He briefly drops his dick to fistpump into the air in victory. His dick makes a ridiculous slapping sound and Stiles can feel his whole body cringe. Oh, well. Confident, sexy, that's him.

"Are you close? Are you imagining yourself finally fucking into me after all this time, my tight, untouched hole spread open in front of you as I pant for more and claw at the mattress and the headboard and anything I can touch. I can take it, Peter, it's so good, I want it, I want you to fuck me until I'm out of my mind and the only thing in the world that can help is you pounding into me harder and harder and--" Stiles hears a gasp and a tell-tale kind of jacking off noise (very distinctive) and the pace is quickening and quickening as Stiles goes on, until finally Peter is just panting on the other end. "Ohmigod, Peter, I made you come and that's so fucking hot."

Softly, Peter finally responds. "Now I want you to come for me, Stiles, imagine me coming inside of you and pulling out before I'm even finished coming and my come of dripping out of your red, swollen, perfect hole and striping your back and thighs. You're mine. You're always going to be mine."

Stiles may or may not actually howl a little as he thrusts his hips up and drives his cock into his fist one last time and comes buckets over his hand and shirt. It's impressive enough that a tiny bit of ejaculate hits his phone and chin.

"So, that was a thing that just happened." So suave. Suavest Werewolf in the West. Peter doesn't sigh or immediately express regret/remorse, though. Practically a ringing endorsement.

"Ten out of ten, would do again." Stiles is startled into laughter by that response.

"So...are we talking about this now? Is the sex part going to happen? If not, why?"

"To answer your three part question: Yes, of course. We can always talk about anything. The sex part seems to have just happened. And, see above."

"Um, yes, but will there be actual touching in the bathing suit area? Or even just a makeout sesh with some heavy petting?"

“I don’t know, Stiles. I think I’m waiting until marriage.”

“God, shut up. I’m trying to have a real conversation here.” He hears a sigh on the other end and can imagine the exact face that Peter makes when he’s collecting his thoughts to express in that careful way of his. 

Which is why he is so surprised when Peter says, “I’m afraid.”

“Oh.”

"If all that came from the scheming and maneuvering to become the alpha again is that I get to have this, got to have made you and had the taste of your blood in my mouth--that's enough." He blurts it out in a blurty way that means he’s a) been holding that thought in and b) spending too much time with Stiles.

“And that’s scary to you because you finally give a shit about someone more than yourself. And you’re afraid you won’t be able to live without me. Because you actually love me and not just what I can do for you. And all of the scheming and maneuvering that was so important to you suddenly doesn't matter and you worry you're losing yourself. And you’re scared because you’re not a normal person and you have a lot of issues.” Now Peter sighs in relief. Because of course Stiles understands him. "Bitch, I know you."

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not exactly the most balanced werewolf in the world.”

“Now that you mention it.”

“And thus, as loathe as I am to sound like the heroine in a YA novel about vampires, I would like to wait to sort out what's going on in my headspace.”

“Wow. Sharing really is caring. Don’t you feel so much better?”

“No.”

“Well, I feel fucking great. Because you lllllllllove me.”

“I’m going to hang up now.” He doesn’t. 

“Wait, wait.” He drops his voice about three octaves. “What are you wearing?” Werewolf stamina is a wonderful thing.


End file.
